I thought imposter syndrome caused my Ph.D. struggles. I was wrong

From ScienceMag:

The first time I saw my byline on a news story published by my scientific society, I jumped up and down. I had never felt so much pride and ownership about something I did, and for a moment I was free of the habitual self-doubt that had plagued me as a Ph.D. student. But a few months later, when I told my lab group I was writing for the society, there was an uncomfortable silence. To fill the pause, I blabbered about how little the role meant to me. “It’s really not a big deal,” I told my labmates. Later, my reaction bothered me. Why did I act embarrassed about something that had finally given me the passionate spark I had been looking for in science?

My decision 4 years earlier to pursue a Ph.D. was a lot more practical and exploratory than I let on. The work permit the U.S. government had granted me after I finished my bachelor’s degree was coming to an end, and I had two options: stay at the biotech startup where I’d worked for a few years, which had offered to sponsor a new visa application if I signed a 5 year contract, or go back to school. At 22, I hadn’t yet figured out what I wanted to do with my life, so I opted for school.

I started feeling like a fish out of water early on. Everyone around me seemed to be driven by their burning love of science. I felt out of place, uninspired, and incompetent. “It’s just imposter syndrome,” everyone told me. For years, I believed them, thinking that with more experience and confidence, things would change.

But as time went on, the feelings only got stronger. In my fourth year, I started reading blog posts and watching videos in all flavors of “How to know if you should quit your Ph.D.” One YouTuber asked, “Does the idea of someone taking your Ph.D. away make you angry or relieved?”

I thought about the question. The idea didn’t make me angry, despite how much work I’d already put into my dissertation research. “Relieved” was more like it. But at the same time, I knew that I had too much fight in me to leave my program. “That’s fine, I’ll get my degree,” I told myself, “then quit science and pursue something else entirely.”

Partly in search of this “something else,” I began writing. At first, I mainly used it as a creative outlet. But eventually, it led me to explore science communication. I connected with an editor at my scientific society’s magazine, who gave me an opportunity to write articles about newly published scientific papers.

Suddenly, the world of science became much more appealing. In reading and writing about research that had nothing to do with my own, I felt curious, enlightened, and empowered—all the things I didn’t feel as a scientist. The work fed the side of me that, as my mom would say, was always interested in “way too many things.” I began to entertain the idea that my problem wasn’t imposter syndrome—maybe I truly was a fish out of water, and all I needed to do was leave my life on land.

I decided to tell my academic mentors about my new passion. I’d hoped that my discovery would elate them as much as it did me, and that they would bless my desire to explore new waters. Instead, like my labmates, they could not understand why I would want to pursue anything other than research. They blamed imposter syndrome and offered their support. “You can do this,” they told me.

Truthfully, I did worry about what my life would look like if I left the world of scientific research. My family might be disappointed and I might face visa obstacles. I shared those concerns with a writing mentor, who at one point had also been an international student. “Follow your heart, and the rest will follow,” she told me.

I knew in my heart that I wanted to pursue science communication after I graduated. And once I chose to trust that feeling, I found that I no longer struggled to breathe. I still felt out of place in academia. But I now knew where I belonged and how to get there. That gave me the confidence to not only complete my Ph.D., but also tell my colleagues that I was moving into science communication without feeling awkward or embarrassed.

So, if you’re feeling like a fish out of water, remember that there are little ponds and streams all around you. All you have to do is trust that feeling and—sometimes—jump.

Read More